Escape for Easter: The Brunelli Baby Bargain / The Italian Boss's Secret Child / The Midwife's Miracle Baby

The storm and the heaviness in the air probably accounted for ninety per cent of the weird tension that held her in its grip.

‘The storm is coming.’

Almost before the words were out of her mouth lightning flashed, filling the room with white. Sam tensed.

The storm was here.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing…lightning. I’m not keen on storms.’ In the distance Sam could hear the dull roll of thunder and he obviously did too.

‘It’s quite close.’

‘I’d worked that out for myself,’ she said crankily, keeping her head bent over his hand. ‘Sorry if this is hurting.’ She attached the final strip of tape to the bandage. ‘Done.’ She angled a questioning look at his face. She was pretty sure what his response would be, but she felt obliged to ask anyway. ‘Would you like me to call someone for you?’

‘I would like—’

At that moment there was a bang so loud that Sam shrieked and leapt as though shot. She saw the contents of the first-aid box hit the floor and a second later she couldn’t see anything at all—the lights went out and the room was plunged into inky darkness.

‘Calm down, woman, it’s only a bit of thunder.’

Despite the irritation in his voice she supposed the hand that fell on her shoulder was meant to offer comfort.

‘The lights have gone out,’ she said.

His face had separated itself out from the darkness, a more solid shadow, but she could not make out any details of his features as he responded in a voice wiped clean of all expression.

‘They went out for me five weeks ago.’

Only five weeks! Her eyes widened in shock and for a moment she was not conscious of the storm.

‘Was it gradual or…?’

The fingers on her arm tightened. ‘You mean did I have time to practise with my white cane and learn Braille? No, I didn’t. It was the side effect of surgery following an accident. But let’s look on the bright side—I’m the man you want around when the lights go out. And are you scared of the dark, my ministering angel?’

‘Are you?’ She reached out for his face, trailing her fingers down strong contours, trying to translate the tactile messages into an image…was this how he saw?

Did he live with a fear of the blackness he now faced every day? The thought of his dark world made something twist hard inside Sam. She reached up and grabbed his head, drawing his mouth to hers and pressing her lips against his. She kissed him with a ferocity born of, not just lust, but sharp, sweet tenderness.

He did not react. There was the space of several heartbeats, during which she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her, before he responded, kissing her back with the wild desperation of a starving man.

‘Sometimes,’ she heard herself admit when the kiss ended and she was standing there shaking, ‘I’m scared of just about everything.’ But nothing in her life so far made her as scared as the rush of primal need she felt in the arms of this total stranger.

‘You hide it well.’

She couldn’t hide her response when his hand slid under her top, his long fingers skating over the hot skin of her back. She didn’t actually try.

And when he bent his dark head and fitted his mouth to hers, parting her lips with his tongue, she met it with her own. As his mouth lifted a fractured moan escaped past the emotional thickening in Sam’s aching throat. Then she could feel his breath warm against her neck, stirring the downy hairs on her cheek as he took her face between his hands and ran his thumbs across the trembling outline of her lips, swollen from his hungry kisses.

‘Dio Mio, it’s been a long time,’ he slurred thickly.

Sam was shaking inside and out as she whispered, ‘You’ve not lost the knack, I promise you.’

He ran his tongue slowly along the curve of her upper lip, a slow sensual smile forming on his own mouth when his actions drew a second deep throaty moan from her. ‘I haven’t wanted a woman for a long time.’

His words sent a fresh rush of heat through her body. ‘But you want me?’

The electricity in the lengthening silence had nothing to do with the storm raging outside. When he finally spoke his voice was thick and heavily accented.

‘What do you think?’ His big hands slid to her hips and, cupping her bottom, he drew her hard against his body so that she could feel the strength of his arousal.

A whimpering sound left her throat as she felt the erotic imprint of his erection in the soft flesh of her belly.

‘Will you take all of me, cara?’ Without waiting for a response he took hold of the hem of her top, and peeling it over her head, flung it over his shoulder before reaching for the clip on her bra.

A tiny sliver of sense surfaced and Sam shook her head.

‘Not yet.’

Shivering as the cool air hit her overheated skin, Sam was glad of the dark as he suggested, ‘For you too, I think, it has been a long time?’ His voice shook, tremors raking his lean frame as he bent his head and claimed her lips again.

Sam was startled when, his hands still anchored to her hips, he fell to his knees. He placed a hand in the small of her back and drew her towards him.

‘What are you…?’ She broke off, gasping as she felt the flicker of his tongue across her hardened nipples through the silk of her bra. Her head went back and a low keening cry left her throat as the erotic caress sent a pulse of heat deep into her pelvis, then again and again as he drew the tight peak into his mouth.

‘Oh, God!’ she moaned, and didn’t recognise her voice. Her head was spinning and she couldn’t focus. Her body was on fire; every nerve ending was screaming for his attention. Her knees sagged and she thought how she couldn’t take any more of what he was doing, except maybe the words were not in her head, maybe she said them out loud, because he groaned.

‘Me neither, cara.’ Then he picked her up, his big hands cupped under her bottom supporting her weight as he rose to his feet in fluid motion.

Feet clear of the ground, Sam linked her arms behind his head and kissed him hard on his mouth. He tasted of whisky and she remembered the empty bottles.

‘Are you drunk?’

‘That would be an excuse,’ he agreed. ‘But, no, I’m not, though neither do I think I am totally sane.’ He bent his head to kiss her once more.

‘You taste so good,’ he slurred thickly. ‘Do all ministering angels taste this good?’

‘Don’t stop!’ she pleaded, her fingers tangling in his hair drawing his face to her body.

‘I won’t…I can’t.’ Something in his voice conveyed he found the situation incomprehensible, which made two of them, Sam thought, clinging on tight as in total pitch darkness he took the flight of stone stairs two a time. He acted as though she weighed nothing. The muscles in his arms, and for that matter everywhere else, were obviously not just for show.

He kicked open the bedroom door and backed in carrying her. A flash of lightning zigzagged in the sky outside the stone mullion and for a moment she saw the room and him.

By the time he laid her on the four-poster and joined her the darkness had closed back in around them like a blanket, but the memory of the primal need etched into his dark features stayed with her.

She felt his hands on her body stripping off her remaining clothes, his touch adding fuel to the fire of frustration that was growing inside her.

She could hear his breath come faster as he touched her breasts, weighing and cupping them in his hands—by which time she was not breathing at all.

As his hands slid down her body she recalled reading somewhere that a person’s inhibitions were freed in the dark. It had to be true because now she found herself taking his hand and pressing it against the damp apex of her legs, urging him to touch her.

‘This isn’t me,’ she whispered as he slid fingers into her heat and dampness, causing her body to arch like a bow. She was on fire, she was melting…she was aching.

‘Well, whoever you are, cara, you’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.’

She let out a cry of protest when he levered himself off her, but literally seconds later he returned and his clothes were gone. The skin-to-skin contact sent a shock wave through her body, but it also seemed to kick-start her natural instincts into life.

‘You’re beautiful!’ She felt her first rush of feminine power as she laid a hand flat on his chest and a ripple shuddered through his body. ‘God, you feel so good.’

It was liberating and wildly exciting to slide her fingers over his smooth skin and hear his harsh intake of breath as her fingers tangled in the hair on his chest before sliding lower. The rippling male strength of his body fascinated her.

Her eyes closed tight, her breath coming in tiny gusty puffs, she let her hand trail even lower.

Her gasp and hasty withdrawal soon afterwards drew a low husky chuckle from the man beside her.

‘I said it had been a long time.’ He kissed her mouth and breathed thickly. ‘It’s what you do to me.’

Adjusting his position so that they lay face to face, he pulled her leg across his hip. He let her feel his arousal against her belly, then drew her hand down between them, curling her fingers around the hard shaft.

A flash of heat washed over her body as things shifted and tightened low in her pelvis. ‘You are incredible…’

This time it was Cesare who pulled her hand away, stifling her small cry of protest with his mouth. As they kissed with a feverish desperation their bodies pressed into one another as they fought to be one.

The anticipation lodged like a fist behind her breastbone as he flipped her onto her back. He was a dark shadow above her as he laid a hand either side of her head.

A fractured sigh left her lips as he inserted a knee between her legs and opened them before settling between them. As he thrust up and into her a shocked cry was wrenched from Sam’s throat at the moment of intimate invasion.

Above her she was conscious of him speaking in the same tone as someone might use to gentle a scared animal. His voice was low, and he might have been saying anything—she didn’t understand a word of Italian—but it sounded incredible. He also felt incredible and while she sort of knew what came next she couldn’t wait to find out.

She grabbed his shoulders, sliding her fingers down the smooth contours of his muscled back until they came to rest on his taut buttocks.

Above her she could hear the harsh sound of his laboured breathing. She grabbed really hard, arched against him and begged, ‘Please!’

The fierce request drew a groan from his chest. ‘Don’t push too hard. I need to stay in control…’

Sam didn’t need him in control, she needed him out of control. The fire in her blood was telling her she did.

He seemed to get the drift of her fierce request because a moment later he responded, and started to move, building a steady rhythm as he thrust deeper and deeper into her.

Her body closed around him and she wrapped her legs around his waist as the raw urgency that boiled in her blood took her over completely.

The anticipation built inside her until she thought she might explode or ignite—she did both.

It started slowly with small quivers and then it hit her, the strength of the climatic moment shocking a cry from her lips as she felt his hot release inside her.

He lay on top of her, neither making any effort to break the intimate connection until he groaned, ‘I’ll crush you, cara,’ and rolled off her.

Sam, who had liked being crushed by his heavy male body, lay there not knowing what to do until he suddenly reached out and pulled her into his side.

‘You’ll get cold over there, angel.’ He pulled the cover up over her and pulled her head onto his chest. ‘Sorry, I haven’t slept in days, but I will now. Don’t go anywhere.’

As she lay in his arms and listened to him breathing deep and steady she remembered overhearing a friend say something after she had just ended a particularly turbulent relationship.

‘Sex is not the cure, it’s the drug and it’s often worse than the disease that was there to begin with. It’s better to be lonely than need anyone that much.’

It had not made sense to Sam at the time, but now it did. She hadn’t felt lonely before, she hadn’t felt her life was missing any vital ingredient, but now she did.

She lifted her chin. She was a grown-up; she was going to move on; she wasn’t going to have her life defined by one chance meeting—and one deeply flawed, charismatic, fascinating man.

But there seemed no point moving on until the storm did the same.

Now, twelve weeks later, Sam could marvel at her naivety when she had thought moving on would be that simple. One experience had taught her that it was easier said than done especially when she had a constant reminder of that man and that night.

She sighed, pressed a hand to her stomach and thought of how much she would love this baby, no matter what.

‘I said, lady, you might as well get out and walk from here. This traffic is not going to move.’

Sam looked at the taxi driver, her blank gaze slowly clearing from her face. ‘Th-thank you,’ she stuttered, reaching in her bag for her purse.

The ability of the past to drag her back in this way was something she had to resist. It was totally pointless to revisit it and a mistake to assume any closeness to the man because they had shared one night.

She might have lain in his arms and laid her head to his heart while he slept, but he remained a total enigma. She still didn’t have a clue what went on in his head, but maybe that was for the best. They belonged in different worlds.

She told herself she was glad that he had rejected the chance to take any role in his child’s life. At least that meant she could keep him out of hers and out of her head too, she decided, pinning on a bright upbeat smile.

‘Keep the change,’ she said to the taxi driver as she handed him some money before vanishing into the mass of other pedestrians. Today had been a big mistake, but she was over it, and him, already.

CHAPTER SIX

SAM glanced at her watch before she knocked on the door of the editor’s office—damn!

It was ten minutes after the time Eric Gibbs had said he wanted her to meet him. Eric was well known for two things: his beard, which made him look like an avuncular Father Christmas, and his almost paranoid aversion to being kept waiting by anyone.

He had been known to walk out on Hollywood royalty because they were late and she wasn’t a famous actor or a diva, she was a very junior journalist whose temporary contract was just coming to an end.

It was a nail-biting place to be for anyone who had her share of insecurities—which Sam did.

A few weeks earlier being offered this contract had been the focus of all her ambitions, and the possibility that the man himself might be about to offer it to her would have had her in a state of feverish anticipation.

Now, when financial security mattered more than ever, Sam knocked on the door feeling oddly detached.

The chances were this was nothing to do with her contract at all. Eric Gibbs had more important items on his agenda than the contracts of very junior members of his staff. On the two occasions they had met face to face he had got her name wrong, though she’d been told not to take that personally. Apparently Eric was not good with names and called everyone from royalty to government ministers ‘mate’.

But if it wasn’t the contract what else could explain this abrupt summons on her day off? She might have had more of a clue if her mental discipline hadn’t disintegrated. She couldn’t string two thoughts together without Cesare muscling his way into her head.

‘Get over him, Sam!’ she counselled herself sternly. If he didn’t want anything to do with this baby, that was his loss. She frowned, lifted her chin and said ‘His loss!’ just as the office door opened. ‘S-sorry,’ she muttered, blushing to the roots of her hair.

‘I said come in.’

‘I didn’t hear, I’m…’

‘Never mind. Sit down…I’ll get straight to the point.’

He did and Sam listened, the knot of anxiety in her stomach having grown into a gaping chasm by the time he had finished speaking.

‘So you’re sacking me?’ It was a shock—more than a shock. She was insecure, but she was not delusional—she knew she was good.

The editor’s direct gaze wandered in the direction of the potted plant on the filing cabinet. ‘We have to let you go. Sorry and all that.’

Sam got to her feet struggling for dignity. It was hard when her knees were shaking so hard. ‘Not as sorry as me.’

‘Of course, we’ll give you excellent references.’

‘What have I done wrong?’

‘This isn’t about you, it’s about… Damn them!’ he growled, slamming his fist down on the desk causing a pile of papers to slide to the floor.

Sam watched the inexplicable display of anger, but it didn’t have the power to touch her. She was numb.

‘It’s about organisational changes.’

Sam accepted the vague explanation with a shrug. ‘I’ll take my things with me, shall I?’

‘No hurry…no hurry,’ Eric said, looking awkward as he gave her shoulder a squeeze.

Sam managed to collect her things without bumping into anyone she knew. She was halfway home before the anger kicked in and she was articulate after the fact. A hundred things she knew she should have said—haughty, cutting things—popped into her head. By the time she reached her bedsit the anger had given way to misery, self-pity and tears that blinded her as she pushed the key into the door and let herself in.

She dropped the things she was holding onto the floor and flung herself headlong on the sofa.

They had been sitting in the stationary car for half an hour before Paolo, sitting in the driving seat, spoke up.

‘There is a lady coming, petite, she has red hair and she’s crying.’

The last comment was the clincher.

‘She is going into the building.’ The thickset Italian continued speaking in his native tongue.

‘We will follow her,’ Cesare said, trying not to think about the tears. This was a situation where the ends definitely justified the means.

Paolo responded with an affirmative grunt, but expressed no surprise at the announcement. He had worked for Cesare for ten years and the role required flexibility. He waited until Cesare had slid from the back seat and then placed a light guiding hand unobtrusively on his employer’s elbow as they walked towards the building the woman had gone into.

‘It is the fifth floor, flat 17b.’

Was she weeping in flat 17b?

Cesare’s expression hardened into a mask of resolution as he continued to refuse to acknowledge his guilt, and the part he had played in her tears.

‘The lift is out of order, sir,’ Paolo said in a tone that suggested this did not surprise him.

‘The building does not meet with your approval? It could do with a lick of paint?’ Cesare speculated.

‘Several. Or, better still, knocking down.’

Cesare laughed. ‘You are a snob.’ Then his expression sobered. A building that his fastidious driver found unacceptable was not one that he had any intention of his child being raised in.

The thickset Paolo, who carried a few extra pounds around his middle, was panting by the time they reached the fourth floor. Cesare was not.

‘You need to take more exercise, my friend.’

Paolo acknowledged the comment with a grunt before giving his employer a rapid thumbnail sketch of their surroundings. He knew that his employer’s remarkably retentive memory would not require him to repeat himself.

‘You wish me to wait?’

‘No. I will call when I need you.’

Sam was still lying on the sofa wearing her damp coat when the doorbell began to ring. It was only when the man from the flat upstairs began banging on the floor and it became obvious that her visitor was not going to go away that she made any attempt to respond.

‘All right, all right,’ she muttered, running the back of her hand across her damp cheeks and glancing with disinterest in the mirror as she passed. The glance revealed a blotchy, tear-stained face and swollen eyes surrounded by a halo of wild, slightly damp red curls.

Sniffing and pushing her hair back from her face, she opened the door a crack, but before she could either tell her noisy visitor to go away or even just check them out the door was thrust open and she was lifted backwards into her cramped hallway as Cesare Brunelli’s broad-shouldered, six-foot-five frame entered her flat.

For thirty seconds she was too stunned to say or do anything at all.

As his hands fell from her waist Cesare was unable to dispel the illogical feeling that they had belonged there—they fitted. Shrugging off the whimsical idea, he drew a hand through his hair and it came away wet. It had been raining outside.

‘Say something or I will start to think I have wandered into the wrong flat.’

It was a lie. He could have picked out her subtle womanly fragrance in a room crammed with hundreds of bodies, and he didn’t think this had anything to do with some sensory compensation he had developed. His sixth sense had not come out of hibernation, but there was, it seemed, just something about her that he reacted to on an almost cellular level.

The mass of raw masculinity in such an enclosed space sent Sam’s nervous system and her brain into chaotic confusion. She expelled a long shaky sigh as her wide-eyed glance slid down the long, lean length of him, a weakness invading her limbs as a deeper shuddery sigh left her with parted lips. He looked incredible—the epitome of male beauty standing close enough for her to touch. Only she wasn’t going to—she still had a grain of good sense left and past experience had taught her that when any form of physical contact with the Italian took place things got dangerously unpredictable.

She stared covetously at him and wondered what to do next—the question might be academic if her heart beat any faster. The moleskin jacket he wore hung open to reveal a close-fitting cashmere sweater, black, like the jeans that emphasised his long, muscular thighs and snaky hips.

She tried to drag her eyes away but couldn’t stop staring. There was a sheen of moisture on his golden skin making it gleam, and the same moisture clung in silvery droplets to the long eyelashes that framed his beautiful eyes.

He had not hidden them behind dark glasses, but then Cesare Brunelli was not a hiding sort of man. He was more of a hit-obstacles-head-on sort of person.

She suspected that most things moved—or even ran—when they saw him coming! If she had shown as much sense, she reflected bitterly, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Although she supposed she would still be out of work, only it would be because she hadn’t made the grade, which wasn’t as bad as out of work because she hadn’t made the grade and was pregnant!

She finally managed to speak. ‘You didn’t wander in, you barged in uninvited.’ She tried hard to inject the necessary degree of coldness and disapproval into her voice, but it was an uphill battle because it was hard to be cold when she was staring at his mouth. ‘How did you get here?’ She started at the sound of the door being closed with an audible click. ‘And what are you doing here?’

Hearing the rising note of escalating panic in her voice, she stopped and cleared her throat.

‘Actually this is a bad time for m-me…’

The husky catch in her voice had a similar effect on Cesare as a nerve ending being exposed to cold air. His brows drew together in a stern line as his forehead puckered into a frown. ‘You’re crying!’

Scalding shame washed over him. He firmed his jaw, causing the muscles along the strong angular outline to quiver. This was not the place for sentiment; he was doing the right thing. It was necessary.

Sam sniffed and placed both hands across her mouth to muffle the sob she felt welling up in her throat.